How The French Landed At Portsmouth

: The World Peril Of 1910

All the ships able to take their place in the fighting-line were left

outside. The French prisoners were disembarked and their places taken by

drafts from the British warships, who at once set about making such

repairs as were possible at sea. Admiral Beresford boarded the

Ithuriel, which, until the next fight, he proposed to use as a

despatch-boat, and ran up the harbour.



He found every jetty, including he North and South Railway piers, mere

masses of smoking ruins: but the Ordnance Depot on Priddy's Hard had

somehow escaped, probably through the ignorance of the assailants. He

landed at Sheer Jetty opposite Coaling Point, and before he was half-way

up the steps a short, rather stout man, in the undress uniform of a

General of Division, ran down and caught him by the hand. After him came

a taller, slimmer man with eyes like gimlets and a skin wrinkled and

tanned like Russian leather.



The first of the two men was General Sir John French, Commander-in-Chief

at Aldershot, and the second was General Sir Ian Hamilton, Commander of

the Southern Military District.



"Bravo, Beresford!" said General French, quietly. "Scooped the lot,

didn't you?"



"All that aren't at the bottom of the Channel. Good-morning, Hamilton.

I've heard that you're in a pretty bad way with your forts here,"

replied the Admiral. "By the way, how are the docks? I've got a few lame

ducks that want looking after badly."



"We've just been having a look round," replied General Hamilton. "The

town's in an awful state, as you can see. The Naval and Military

barracks, and the Naval School are wrecked, and we haven't been able to

save very much from the yards, but I don't think the docks are hurt

much. The sweeps went more for the buildings. We can find room for half

a dozen, I think, comfortably."



"That's just about what I want," said the Admiral. "We've lost the

Hindustan and New Zealand. The Canada and Newfoundland are

pretty badly mauled, and I've got half a dozen Frenchmen that would be

all the better for a look over. The Britain, Edward VII., Dominion

and Commonwealth are quite seaworthy, although, as you see, they've

had it pretty hot in their topworks. The cruiser squadron is practically

untouched. We've got the Verite, Justice and Democratie, but the

Verite has got her propellers and rudders smashed. By the way, that

ship of Erskine's, the Ithuriel, has turned out a perfect demon. She

smashed up the first attack, sank nine destroyers and two cruisers, one

of them was that big chap the Dupleix, before we came on the scene.

During the action she wiped out I don't know how many destroyers and

torpedo boats, sank the Jeanne d'Arc and saved my ship from being

rammed by crippling the Verite just in the nick of time. If we only

had a squadron of those boats and made Erskine Commodore, we'd wipe the

fleets of Europe out in a month. Now that's my news. What's yours?"



"Bad enough," replied General French. "A powerful combined fleet of

Germans and French, helped by some of these infernal things that seem as

much at home in the air as they are in the water, are making a combined

attack on Dover, and we seem to be getting decidedly the worst of it.

Dover Castle is in flames, and nearly all the forts are in a bad way; so

are the harbour fortifications. The Russians and Dutch are approaching

London with a string of transports behind them, and four airships above

them. Their objectives are supposed to be Tilbury and Woolwich on one

hand, and Chatham on the other. By the way, weren't there any transports

behind this French Fleet that you've settled up with?"



He had scarcely uttered the last word when a helio began to twinkle from

the hill above Foreland.



"That's bad news," said the Admiral, "but wait now, there's something

else. It's a good job the sun's come out, though it doesn't look very

healthy."



The message that the helio twinkled out was as follows:





"Thirty large vessels, apparently transports, approaching from

direction of Cherbourg and Brest about ten miles south-east by

south."





"Very good," said the Admiral, rubbing his hands. "Of course they think

we're beaten. I've got five French cruisers that they'll recognise. I'll

get crews aboard them at once and convoy those transports in, and the

Commanders will be about the most disgusted men in Europe when they get

here."



Acting on the principle that all is fair in love and war, Admiral

Beresford and the two Generals laid as pretty a trap for the French

transports as the wit of man ever devised. Ten minutes' conversation

among them sufficed to arrange matters. Then the Admiral, taking a list

of the serviceable docks with him, went back on board the Ithuriel and

ran out to the Fleet. He handed over the work of taking care of the lame

ducks to Commodore Courtney of the Britain; then from the damaged

British ships he made up the crews of the French cruisers, the Jules

Ferry, Leon Gambetta, Victor Hugo, Aube and Marseillaise. He

took command of the squadron on board the Victor Hugo, and to the

amazement of officers and men alike, he ordered the Tricolor to be

hoisted. At the same time, the White Ensign fluttered down from all the

British ships that were not being taken into the dockyard and was

replaced by the Tricolor. A few minutes afterward the French flag rose

over Fort Monckton and upon a pole mast which had been put up amidst

the ruins of Southsea Castle.



The French prisoners of course saw the ruse and knew that its very

daring and impudence would command success. Some of them wrung their

hands and danced in fury, others wept, and others cursed to the full

capability of the French language, but there was no help for it. What

was left of Portsmouth was already occupied by twenty thousand men of

all arms from the Southern Division. The prisoners were disarmed and

their ships were in the hands of the enemy to do what they pleased with,

and so in helpless rage they watched the squadron of cruisers steam out

to meet the transports, flying the French flag and manned by British

crews. It meant either the most appalling carnage, or the capture of the

First French Expeditionary Force consisting of fifty thousand men, ten

thousand horses, and two hundred guns.



The daringly original stratagem was made all the easier of achievement

by the fact that the Commanders of the French transports, counting upon

the assistance of the airships and the enormous strength of the naval

force which had been launched against Portsmouth, had taken victory for

granted, and when the first line came in sight of land, and officers and

men saw the smoke-cloud that was still hanging over what twenty-four

hours before had been the greatest of British strongholds, cheer after

cheer went up. Portsmouth was destroyed and therefore the French Fleet

must have been victorious. All that they had to do, therefore, was to

steam in and take possession of what was left. At last, after all these

centuries, the invasion of England had been accomplished, and Waterloo

and Trafalgar avenged!



Happily, in the turmoil of the fight and the suddenness in which the

remains of the French Fleet had been forced to surrender, the captain of

the Victor Hugo had forgotten to sink his Code Book. The result was

that when the cruiser squadron steamed out in two divisions to meet the

transports, the French private signal, "Complete victory--welcome,"

was flying from the signalyard of the Victor Hugo. Again a mighty

cheer thundered out from the deck of every transport. The cruisers

saluted the transports with seventeen guns, and then the two divisions

swung out to right and left, and took their stations on either flank of

the transports.



And so, all unsuspecting, they steamed into Spithead, and when they saw

the British ships lying at anchor, flying the Tricolor and the same flag

waving over Fort Monckton and Southsea Castle, as well as from half a

dozen other flagstaffs about the dockyards, there could be no doubt as

to the magnitude and completeness of the victory which the French Fleet

had gained, and moreover, were not those masts showing above the waters

of Spithead, the masts of sunken British battleships.



Field-Marshal Purdin de Trevillion, Commander of the Expeditionary

Force, accompanied by his staff, was on board the Messageries liner

Australien, and led the column of transports. In perfect confidence he

led the way in between the Spithead Forts, which also flew the Tricolor

and saluted him as he went past. As the other vessels of the great

flotilla followed in close order, Fort Monckton and the rest of the

warships saluted; and then as the last transport entered the narrow

waters, a very strange thing happened. The cruisers that had dropped

behind spread themselves out in a long line behind the forts; the

British ships slipped their moorings and steamed out from Stokes Bay and

made a line across to Ryde. Destroyers and torpedo boats suddenly dotted

the water with their black shapes, appearing as though from nowhere;

then came down every Tricolor on fort and ship, and the White Ensign ran

up in its place, and the same moment, the menacing guns swung round and

there was the French flotilla, unarmed and crowded with men, caught like

a flock of sheep between two packs of wolves.



Every transport stopped as if by common instinct. The French Marshal

turned white to the lips. His hands went up in a gesture of despair,

and he gasped to his second-in-command, who was standing beside him:



"Mon Dieu! Nous sommes trahis! Ces sacres perfides Anglais! We are

helpless, like rats in a trap. With us it is finished, we can neither

fight nor escape."



While he was speaking, the huge bulk of the Britain steamed slowly

towards the Australien, flying the signal "Do you surrender?" Within

five hundred yards, the huge guns in her forward barbette swung round

and the muzzles sank until the long chases pointed at the Australien's

waterline. The Field-Marshal knew full well that it only needed the

touch of a finger on a button to smash the Australien into fragments,

and he knew too that the first shot from the flagship would be the

signal for the whole Fleet to open fire, and that would mean massacre

unspeakable. He was as brave a man as ever wore a uniform, but he knew

that on the next words he should speak the lives of fifty thousand men

depended. He took one more look round the ring of steel which enclosed

him on every side, and then with livid lips and grinding teeth gave the

order for the flag to be hauled down. The next moment he unbuckled his

sword and hurled it into the sea; then with a deep groan he dropped

fainting to the deck.



It would be useless to attempt to describe the fury and mortification

with which the officers and men of the French Force saw the flags one by

one flutter down from end to end of the long line of transports, but it

was plain even to the rawest conscript that there was no choice save

between surrender and massacre. They cursed and stamped about the decks

or sat down and cried, according to temperament, and that, under the

circumstances, was about all they could do.



Meanwhile, a steam pinnace came puffing out from the harbour, and in a

few minutes General French was standing on the promenade deck of the

Australien. The Field Marshal had already been carried below. A

grey-haired officer in the uniform of a general came forward with his

sword in his hand and said in excellent English, but with a shake in his

voice:



"You are General French, I presume? Our Commander, Field-Marshal Purdin

de Trevillion had such an access of anger when he found how we had been

duped that he flung his sword into the sea. He then fainted, and is

still unconscious. You will, therefore, perhaps accept my sword instead

of his."



General French touched the hilt with his hand, and said:



"Keep it. General Devignes, and I hope your officers will do the same. I

will accept your parole for all of them. You are the Field-Marshal's

Chief-of-Staff, I believe, and therefore, of course, your word is his. I

am very sorry to hear of his illness."



"You have my word," replied General Devignes, "for myself and those of

my officers who may be willing to give their parole, but for those who

prefer to remain prisoners I cannot, of course, answer."



"Of course not," replied General French, with a rather provoking genial

smile. "Now I will trouble you to take your ships into the harbour. I

will put a guard on each as she passes; meanwhile, your men will pile

arms and get ready to disembark. We cannot offer you much of a welcome,

I'm afraid, for those airships of yours have almost reduced Portsmouth

to ruins, to say nothing of sending ten of our battleships and cruisers

to the bottom. I can assure you, General, that the losses are not all on

your side."



"No, General," replied the Frenchman, "but for the present, at least,

the victory is on yours."



Then transport after transport filed into the harbour, and General

Hamilton and his staff took charge of the disembarkation. Six of the

British lame ducks had been got safely into dock, and every available

man was slaving away in deadly earnest to repair the damage done in

those terrible two hours. Repairs were also being carried out as

rapidly as possible on the cruisers and battleships lying in Spithead,

and as shipload after shipload of the disarmed French soldiers were

landed, they were set to work, first at clearing up the dockyards and

getting them into something like working order, and then clearing up the

ruins of the three towns.



The news of Admiral Beresford's magnificent coup had already reached

London, and the reply had come back terse and to the point:





"Excellently well done. Congratulate Admiral Beresford and all

concerned. We are hard pressed at Dover, and London is threatened.

Send Ithuriel to Dover as soon as possible, and let her come on

here when she has given any possible help. Land and sea defence of

south and south-east at discretion of yourself, Domville and

Beresford. CONNAUGHT."





By some miracle, the Keppel's Head, perhaps the most famous naval

hostelry in the south of England, had escaped the shells from the

airships, and so General French had made it his headquarters for the

time being. Sir Compton Domville had received a rather serious injury

from a splinter in the left arm during the destruction of the Naval

Barracks, but he had had his wounds dressed and insisted, against the

advice of the doctors, in driving down to the Hard and talking matters

over with General French. They were discussing the disposition of the

French prisoners and the huge amount of war material which had been

captured, when the telegram was delivered. They had scarcely read it

when there was a knock at the door and an orderly entered, and said:



"Captain Erskine, of the Ithuriel, would be pleased to see the General

when he's at liberty."



"The very man!" said General French. "This is the young gentleman," he

continued, turning to Admiral Domville, "who practically saved us from

two torpedo attacks, won the Fleet action for us, and saved Beresford

from being rammed at the moment of victory."



The door opened again, and Erskine came in. He saluted and said:



"General, if I may suggest it, I shall not be much more use here, and my

lieutenant, Denis Castellan, has just had a telegram from his aunt and

sister, who are in London, saying that things are pretty bad there. I

fancy I might be of some use if you would let me go, sir."



"Let you go!" laughed the General. "Why, my dear sir, you've got to go.

Here's a telegram that I've just had from His Royal Highness the

Commander-in-Chief, saying that Dover and London are in a bad way, and

telling me to send you round at once. When can you start?"



"Well, sir," replied Erskine, after a moment's thought, "we're not

injured in any way, but it will take a couple of hours, I'm afraid, to

replenish our motive power, and fill up with shell, and added to that, I

should like to have a good overhaul of the machinery."



"Just listen to that, now!" exclaimed Admiral Beresford, who had entered

the room while he was speaking. "Here's a man who has done nearly as

much single-handed as the rest of us put together and fought through as

stiff a Fleet action as the hungriest fire-eater in the navy wants to

see, and tells you he isn't injured, while half of us are knocked to

scrap-iron. I wish we had fifty Ithuriels, there'd be very little

landing on English shores."



"I don't think you have very much to complain of in the French landing

at Portsmouth, Beresford," laughed Sir Compton Domville. "I don't want

to flatter you, but it was an absolute stroke of genius. We shall have

to set those fellows to work on the forts and yards, and get some guns

into position again. It isn't exactly what they came for but they'll

come in very useful. But that can wait. Here's the wire from the

Commander-in-Chief. Captain Erskine, you are to get round to Dover and

London as soon as possible, and, I presume, do all the damage you can on

the way. General French is going to London as soon as a special can be

got ready for him."



"May I ask a great favour, sir?" said Erskine.



"Anything, after what you've done," replied Sir Compton. "What is it?"



General French and Lord Beresford nodded in agreement, and Erskine

continued, addressing Lord Beresford: "That Mr Lennard, whom your

lordship met on board the Ithuriel, has given me the formula of a new

high explosive. Absurdly simple, but simply terrific in its effect. I

made up half a dozen shells with it and tried them. I gave the Dupleix

three rounds. They seem to reduce steel to dust, and, as far as we could

see every man on the decks dropped as if he had been struck by

lightning. From what we have done with them I think they will be of

enormous value. Now Mr Lennard is very anxious to get to London and the

north of England, and if General French could find him a place in his

special--"



"My dear sir," interrupted the General, "I shall be only too delighted

to know your maker of thunderbolts. Is he here now?"



"Yes, sir, he's in the smoking-room with Lieutenant Castellan. And that

reminds me, if I am to go to London, I hope you will allow me to hand

over the German spy that we caught here as soon as convenient."



"Bring them both in," said General French. "Sir Compton and General

Hamilton will court-martial your spy this morning, and, I hope, shoot

him this evening."



Within an hour, Lennard, who had something more serious now to think

about than even war, was flying away Londonwards in General French's

special, with a letter of introduction from Denis Castellan to his aunt

and sister, and an hour after the special had started, the Ithuriel

had cleared the narrow waters and was tearing up the Channel at fifty

miles an hour, to see what havoc she could work on the assailants of

London and Dover.